


Fictober18

by Cinlat



Category: Final Fantasy XIV, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Angst, Best Friends, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Fluff, Friendship, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Multi, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Red Mage - Freeform, Sith royalty, Sithy Bunch, Space Punks, corrupting innocent jedi, disaster couple, force wielding children and shenanigans, friend's ocs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 02:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16546760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinlat/pseuds/Cinlat
Summary: Fictober was a Tumblr challenge to write a 500 word drabble every day in October. I've placed them all in a single doc for easy reading.





	Fictober18

**Prompt: “Can you feel this?”**  
**Word Count: 403**  
**A/N: This conversation is the continuation from a fic I wrote several years ago about what would happen if Fynta, Vik, Cormac, and Jaxo were left unsupervised while all the “adults” were out of town. If you like, you can read the rest in Shenanigans.**

  
“Can you feel this?”

  
Fynta hissed over her shoulder, blue eyes narrowed at Jorgan’s smirk. The Cathar didn’t hide his amusement, even went so far as to chuckle when she cursed. Until he lifted Fynta’s shirt. Then, he sighed.

  
Guilt consumed Fynta at the resignation in Jorgan’s demeanor; the need to put her back together one more time.

  
Carefully, Aric slid the garment over Fynta’s head. She stretched, winced, then looked over her shoulder again when Aric moved away.

  
Fynta watched Jorgan pace a few lengths, stop, open his mouth, then snap it shut with a sharp shake of his head. Fynta rolled her eyes. “Get it out.”

  
“You did this to yourself,” Aric growled with a vague gesture at what felt like a hell of a bruise on Fynta’s back. “A bar fight, really?”

  
“You were on the holo,” Fynta shot back as she poked at the sore spot with gentle fingertips. “They started it.”

  
Aric rubbed a hand so vigorously over his head that Fynta was amazed that it didn’t remove the fur. “I saw the commanding officer of Havoc Squad making a fool of herself.” Fynta snorted, and Jorgan pinned her with a sour glare. “Got something you want to add?”

  
“Yeah.” Fynta took a step closer and shoved a finger into Aric’s chest. “Get your eyes checked, Havoc wasn’t there, tonight.” Aric’s look of outraged shock was so comical that it took every ounce of SIS training she possessed not to burst into laughter.

  
“What do you mean?” The suspicion in Jorgan’s voice was palpable. He took a step back and eyed Fynta for a long moment. “What game are you playing?”

  
Fynta nodded towards her cover where it sprawled over the back of a chair. “Inside out. Not a single Havoc soldier in sight.”

  
Silence filled the space while Aric’s mouth worked. Judging by that way his jaw muscle flexed, Fynta guessed he was grinding his teeth. In the end, the Cathar threw his hands up and stormed out of the room.

  
Fynta let out a long breath as she lowered herself onto the bed. She hadn’t meant to be a pain in his ass tonight, the opposite, really. Finding Vik passed out, half naked, in her bed probably hadn’t ingratiated Fynta to Aric either. She’d give him some time to cool off, then find a way to apologize. Aric would forgive, the poor bastard couldn’t help himself.

* * *

Prompt **: “People like you have no imagination.”**  
**Word Count: 534**  
**Characters: Pierce/Chexi**  
**A/N: One of my cross-faction couples, Major Pierce/F! Republic Trooper**

“We are doing this my way, or I’ll leave your ass here, Major.” For some, messed up reason, Pierce loved it when Chexi spat his rank at him. Probably because it reminded him of the way she used it while they were doing other things. When the stuffy, Havoc commander let her hair down and stopped worrying about her image.

Flashing white teeth, Pierce offered his best shit-eating grin. “My apologies, Colonel.”

Chexi rolled her one, good eye and returned to the holo map. The rest of her squad gathered around, kids, all of them. The oldest was at least twenty years Pierce's junior on a good day. At least Chexi was a senior officer, though Pierce hadn’t gotten around to asking for exact numbers. It was better that way; better for his pride.

“If there aren’t any further interruptions,” Chexi continued, her singular gaze rolling towards Pierce. “I think we have a working plan for taking down the Star Fortress over Nar Shaddaa.”

Pierce lifted one finger in a sarcastic wave. Every eye turned towards him, all peering out of Republic faces who would rather spit on him than have him at their backs. Pierce was pretty sure that Chexi’s squad suspected that they were sleeping together no matter how discreet she tried to be in public. Not that he cared, but Chexi was good at keeping up an appearance of disdain, while he enjoyed annoying the hell out of her.

“What is it, Pierce.” He grinned at the venom in Chexi’s voice. They had a deal. For every insult given in the line of duty, a favor was earned in the bedroom. Pierce looked to rack up a long night of fun before this mission was over, and Chexi knew it.

“This plan, it’s exactly what Arcann’s expecting.” Pierce enlarged the image of the lift leading from the Hutt moon to Arcann's prized superweapon. “You want to kick in the front door, then trap us all on the world’s largest staircase. It’s not going to work.”

A mummer of malcontent rippled through the room. Pierce ignored it. “You’ve got a better idea?” One of the kids asked, though Pierce hadn’t taken the time to learn their names. With boots so shiny, they weren’t likely to live beyond the next couple of missions. Made him almost miss that grumpy ass Cathar Chexi used to pal around with.

“I do,” Pierce answered as he spun the image around. “The problem is, people like you have no imagination.” He paused to show a droid mending the outer hull where a meteor had struck. “Suit up, and cut our way in from the top. Easy.”

One of the women snorted, a big Twi’lek that could almost look Pierce in the eye. “No,” Chexi remarked, looking from the map to him. “This might work.”

Stunned silence permeated the room, Pierce included. When the shock subsided, he couldn’t help himself. Slapping on another wide grin, Pierce leaned against the table to look at Chexi through the projection. “I knew you liked me.”

* * *

**Prompt: “How can I trust you?”**  
**Word Count: 610**  
**Characters: Vector/Zolah/Theron**  
**A/N: That moment when the OTP became an OT3**

It was a terrible idea. One that could get her killed. Yet, the longer Zolah considered it, the more sense it made. Their galaxy was falling apart, why not reach for this one, selfish desire?

“Beloved?” Vector’s voice reached Zolah through the darkness. He didn’t say anything else; didn’t have to.

“I’m fine,” Zolah lied. “Go back to sleep.”

The sheets scraped as Vector sat upright to place a gentle kiss on Zolah’s shoulder. “Go to him.”

Zolah couldn’t say why Vector’s approval eased the tension in her stomach. She didn’t need his permission, but having it gave her confidence. Perhaps, because she trusted Vector’s judgment more than her own.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” Zolah asked, groping towards husband’s side of the bed in the darkness. She grasped his hand and allowed its softness to calm her.

“We will be here,” Vector assured with a light squeeze, then settled back onto the mattress. “Good luck.”

Odessen was silent at this time of night. There were only about a dozen people on the base so far. Well, as much of a base as a large cave could be considered. They'd begun excavating, but the work proved to be slow.

As expected, light spilled from under Theron’s ill-fitting door. Zolah smiled to herself before knocking. She heard a quiet curse before he called out. “It’s open.”

Zolah palmed the door open to find her lover seated on the field chair in front of an equally rickety desk. His hair was mussed from frustrated fingers with nothing better to do, cheeks in need of a shave, and datapad propped on one knee. Zolah’s courage faltered when Theron's hazel eyes found hers. “Hey, I was just finishing—”

“We need to talk,” Zolah blurted, a bad habit that she’d developed in Theron’s presence.

A shadow passed over the former agent’s face. “I wondered when we’d have to do this.” Theron heaved a sigh, then stood to meet Zolah. His hands settled on her shoulders as he pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “It’s okay. I knew it couldn’t—”

“I need to know if you are serious about us, or f this is just a fling,” Zolah interrupted. She needed to get it out before returning to Vector. "You know that Vector and I are a packaged deal. Can you handle it?"

Theron stepped away from Zolah, nails scraping against his whiskers while in thought. "Vector has never been a problem. He's a man I can respect." Zolah held her breath while Theron looked up at the ceiling. “We're the problem. Agent’s from opposite sides. How can I trust you?”

“How can I trust you?” Zolah echoed. Theron's gaze bored into hers, and when neither seemed to have an answer, she smiled. “Vector and I want you to move in with us.”

“Really?” Theron asked after a couple of attempts, then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll be honest, I thought you came here to end it.”

Zolah’s smile grew. She would have if Theron had tried to convince her of his commitment. His silence meant that Theron understood where their paths may someday lead, and he accepted the risks. “Well,” Zolah pressed closer, until their bodies were flush and his arms wrapped around her. “What is your answer?”

Pulling free with a telling smirk, Theron walked back to his shabby living space to collect an equally ratty duffel and the ever present datapad. He hefted both, then turned back to greet Zolah. “How about that, I’m already packed.”

* * *

**Prompt: “Will that be all?”**  
**Word Count: 589**  
**Characters: Koth/Hira’niafan**

Koth’s temper mounted for the hundredth time as he dusted the lamp on Hirani’s side of the bed. He knew better than to play cards with the conniving Twi’lek, had learned that lesson months ago. Still, Koth had always been a sucker for an attractive woman with a provocative offer. It cost him his dignity more than once, but none more so than their latest bet.

She cheats, he grumbled silently. Of course, she did, Hirani was a renowned smuggler. It wasn’t like they handed that title out to decent people. Koth knew better than to get involved.

Tugging at the frilly neckline of his apron, Koth walked across the bed to the other side, making sure to put his big feet all over Hirani’s pillow. He dusted that side, then pulled the datapad from the front pouch to double check that he’d completed every task. A piece of hair tugged, and Koth upset the bejeweled headpiece when he reached up to scratch at it.

Koth flung the tiara away with enough force that it clattered against the far wall. His breathing ragged, the once proud Zakuulan soldier glared at the offending piece of jewelry and promised all manner of revenge on the woman who’d forced it on him.

Before Koth could storm off the ship and renounce the irksome Twi’lek forever, he took a deep breath, then bent to collect the discarded piece of his costume. Hirani would find some way to extend his losses if she caught him without.

“No more gambling,” Koth promised, not for the first time, as he settled the dainty metal on his hair and headed for the main room.

“The Petulant Bitch is done.” Though Koth wasn’t completely sure if he was referring to the ship or his girlfriend. “Will that be all?”

Koth’s growled words were answered with a yawn as Hirani flipped two, pink lekku over the back of the couch. She stretched and rolled her head back to look at him through a playful expression.

Koth inhaled a slowly when Hirani pushed to her feet and stalked towards him. “Am I going to like what I see?” The Twi'lek asked as she circled him.

Koth rolled his eyes. “Probably not.” Hirani loved to play these games, and Koth usually found himself on the losing end. Silently, he vowed to get a few pointers from Lem on how to cheat at cards.

Hirani toyed with the strings of Koth’s apron. “I thought you were the optimist,” she whispered a moment before capturing his lower lip between her teeth. The unexpected kiss triggered an instinctive reaction, and before either of them had time to reconsider, Koth had Hirani pressed against the wall.

“What do you say we get out of these clothes?” Koth asked against Hirani’s ear cone at a pitch he knew would send a shiver through her.

“And mess up that bedroom you worked so hard on?” Hirani purred as she nipped her way down Koth’s neck.

As much as the Twi’lek got under his skin, she had a knack for making Koth forget why he was angry. “Hell yes,” he rasped. They could always remake the bed.

Hirani ducked beneath Koth’s next advance and danced away with a swing in her hips. “Come on, then.” He reached to the ties behind his neck, but stopped when Hirani clicked her tongue. Bright, green eyes flashed with mirth. “You can take the rest off, the apron stays on.”

* * *

**Prompt: “Take what you want.”**  
**Word Count: 458**  
**Characters: Trev & Jurr (Space Punk Pals)**  
**A/N: Trev is a nosy boy, and he’s dying to know what’s going on between his best friend and her XO.**

Trev ignored the Cathar's glare as he flopped into the chair across from Jurr. The light of recognition still lingered in her one, amber eye. “So, Captain Jiin,” Trev began, plopping a bag of mixed candies on the table between them. As expected, the newly appointed Lieutenant Aric Jorgan remained her vigilant shadow. Trev nodded to the man, receiving an annoyed grunt in response.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Jurr replied as she doodled on the datapad between her elbows. Trev peeked over to see the beginnings of what looked like Jorgan. He lifted a brow, then smirked when Jurr slid her drawing behind one arm.

Jurr’s gaze drifted towards the candies, then back to her drawing. “Go on,” Trev teased, nudging her boot with his. “Take what you want.”

“You sure?” Jurr asked even as her hand slid into the bag. She plucked a few, popped them into her mouth, then resumed doodling.

Trev noted the way Jorgan watched her, wondering how much the Cathar knew, but stopped short of asking. It was Jurr's secret, and Trev had promised to stay out of her head years ago. Still, he wanted to know what was going on between her and the Cathar.

While outgoing, Trev had never seen her so comfortable in another's presence. “You’ve gotten good at that.” Trev nodded towards the now hidden, noting that is wasn't the first he'd seen of that particular topic. She liked the grumpy Cathar, felt safe around him, or at least intrigued enough to keep coming back to him.

“It helps, you know?” Jurr responded with a tug at the corner of her lips. The abstract doodles from their childhood had morphed into intricate pieces of art; places she'd visited, people common in her life. "Keeps me focused." Trev nodded, caught Jorgan peering over Jurr's elbow, but the Cathar's smile melted away when he noticed Trev watching.

With a chuckle, Trev sat back and folded his arms. “How’s command treating you?” Jorgan shifted at Jurr's side, a quick side glance before focusing once more on his food.

Jurr shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I've got a decent crew, and Aric keeps them in line.” Trev turned his questioning brow on the Cathar again. First name basis meant something.

The lieutenant's eyes followed Jurr's hand as she Jurr reached for another handful of candy. Perhaps it wasn't animosity that Trev sensed from Jorgan, but a protective instinct.

Trev's grinned widened. "Good man, Jorgan. That a way to keep our Jurr out of trouble." Maybe Trev would let Aric in on the secret to remaining on Jurr's good side no matter how her implants were functioning—a steady supply of candies.

 **Prompt: “I heard enough, this ends now.”**  
**Word Count: 646**  
**Characters: Fynta & Cormac (best buds)**  
**A/N: This was inspired by a Tough Mudder event that I attended with a friend where she vastly underestimated the voltage of the final obstacle.**

Fynta dragged herself to the top of the hill with a shouted victory. Ten miles of rough terrain and brutal obstacles lay behind her, the finish line just ahead. Naturally, when she received the notice from Garza that Naboo was hosting a military festival, Havoc Squad was expected to show up and make the old General proud. Fynta didn’t so much care about her image, but it sounded like a shabbing good time.

The sound of grunts and curses echoed behind the major, a beautiful chorus that proclaimed she hadn't lost her edge along with her leg. Only one hurdle stood between Fynta and bragging rights. An ugly beast called the Electric Eel. Fynta had heard from previous competitors that those little electrified ropes packed a punch, but she wasn’t concerned. Fynta had survived torture, blasters, and the Bastion. A little shock wouldn’t slow her down.

“Fynta,” Aric called from the bottom of the ridge. “Don’t do it.”

Fynta ignored her husband in favor of a fun story to tell. Sure, there was a slight chance that the current could upset the circuitry in her fake leg, but it was worth the risk. Besides, the doctors claimed it was blaster proof, those hit harder than anything tiny threads could do.

Without looking back, Fynta dropped into the mud and slid towards the finish line. A large hand landed on her shoulder and pulled Fynta back just as she was about to rush through the wooden forest of volts. The major looked up into the grinning face of none other than Balic Cormac. “When did you get here?” Her friend was good, but all of that muscle usually weighed him down.

“Been training with Elara,” Cormac announced with adorable pride. He patted his stomach, a wide expanse of solid abs. “Lost a little of that flab that was holding me back.”

Fynta snorted. She was sure the man had never had an ounce of fat anywhere on his body. “You going through with me, or not?”

Cormac eyed the expanse of wires suspended above what looked to be a knee deep water. “You know that the adults don’t want you to go through there.”

“Since when have we done what the adults wanted?” Fynta asked with a playful nudge. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Famous last words,” Cormac laughed. He blew air through his lips and looked back at the top of the hill to make sure there weren’t any witnesses before giving in. “Alright, what the hell? Not like you can keep up with me anyway.”

“Oh.” Fynta scoffed, placing a hand to her chest. “You challenging me?” She’d have thought it impossible for Balic’s smile to get bigger, but he managed. “I’ve heard enough, big guy, this ends now.”

Fynta ducked lower, held her left arm out to keep the wires from coming into contact with the metal exposed by her shorts, and looked at her friend. “Go!” They darted into the water and Cormac instantly went down when his foot slipped on the muddy embankment. Fynta laughed while he spluttered and shouted about not leaving a man behind.

When Fynta turned to assure Cormac that she’d wait for him at the finish line, her shoe slid, and she toppled into one of the wires. Someone yelped. It was high pitched and not at all like her voice, but that noise issued every time her mouth opened for air. Fynta’s back muscles contracted and the next thing she saw was the mud as it rushed towards her face.

Fynta surfaced to laughter as Cormac hefted her from the water. Her left leg gave when he sat her down, depositing Fynta once more in the muck. “Fierfek,” she swore when a jolt coursed up her spine.

Still chuckling, Cormac tossed Fynta over his shoulder and scrambled on. “Come on, fearless leader. Let’s go get our asses chewed out, now.”

* * *

**Prompt: “No worries, we still have time.”**  
**Word Count: 486**  
**Characters: Sadio/Torian & Dubaku/Mako**  


Sadio folded her arms and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Torian leaned against the comm station opposite of Dubaku’s flickering image, shaking his head while the Zabrak raged.

“—low down, even for you, Smuggler.” It wasn’t hard to see that Dubaku’s skin had turned a few shades darker red even through the monochromatic link. “I’d expect this sort of thing from Blizz, or hell, even some of your crew. But, turning my own son against me, it’s despicable.”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, Bounty Hunter,” Sadio lied through an eye roll. Mostly because she needed a reason to look away. She was starting to taste blood. “Care to tell me what’s got your girdle in a bunch?”

Mako shrieked in the background, so high pitched that Sadio wasn’t even sure what she’d said, but Torian flinched. Dubaku looked over his shoulder. “No worries, babe, we still have time.” Fiery eyes stared out through the holo, the red rings around them painted white by the faded colors. A slow smirk slid into place. “All the time I need to get even. I’ll see you later, ori'jagyc...don't be late.”

"Bring it," Sadio answered with an equally threatening tone.

When the signal cut out, Sadio doubled over with arms wrapped around her stomach. She laughed so hard that her ribs ached, and only managed to tone them down to manic giggles when Torian put his hands on her shoulders. “Care to tell me what that was about?”

“I—” Sadio's words cut off in a symphony of more laughter, sobering when Torian gave her a gentle shake. She took a deep breath, chewed her bottom lip, then grinned at her husband. “I might have input a harmless virus into Phil’s system before trading him to Dubaku that causes him to rewire the hot and cold water conduits.”

Torian blinked at Sadio a few times before putting a hand to his forehead. “Cyare, I love you, but what possessed you to do that?”

Sadio pulled out of Torian’s grasp, annoyed that he refused to share in her victory. “You were on Hoth, remember? The snowballs? I swore vengeance.” Sadio punched her fists into her hips and nodded. “It would be dishonorable to go back on my word.”

To Sadio’s relief, Torian chuckled and shook his head again. “You know that you’re declaring war on one of the most a hard-headed Mandalorians I know, right?”

Sadio waved Torian’s warning away. “All Mandalorians are hard-headed.” Her grin slid back into place as she stalked forward to wrap her arms around Torian’s waist. “Ever met a smuggler who couldn’t hold a grudge?”

“None worth their job,” Torian admitted.

Sadio popped up onto her toes for a quick kiss. “Exactly. I'm in this for the long haul.”

* * *

**Prompt: “You shouldn’t have come here.”**  
**Word Count: 280**  
**Characters: Fynta & Theron (frenemies - Pre-Havoc Timeline)**  
**A/N: A short fic to make up for all the times that I went over.**

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Theron grunted when Fynta pushed off his chest. She leaned around the corner, using the collar of his jacket as an anchor, and fired more shots at their pursuers.

“Probably,” Fynta answered, then swore when her blaster came up empty. “But, you can’t be trusted on your own.” She threw the weapon at a couple of Gamorreans, who actually ducked away from the projectile. Fynta snorted a laugh and tugged Theron away from the wall.

The spy slapped Fynta’s hands away and ran after her. “I can handle myself,” he growled, turning a half pirouette to fire behind them, then rushing to catch up. The problem being that Fynta was no longer in front of him. “What the--”

Theron slowed enough to ping Fynta's position through his comm, then yelped when the insufferable woman snatched him into another alley. “Can you?” Fynta asked with a flirty gleam in her eye. “You didn’t complain last time I handled you.”

“I’m going to kill Blue for sending you, again.” Theron ground his teeth, but made himself look Fynta in the eye. Whenever he requested backup from the Chiss, Theron specified that he would take anyone except Wolfe. He was convinced that was the only reason Fynta remained a semi-permanent fixture in his life. Blue enjoyed the show.

Fynta pressed herself against Theron, shoving them both into the shadows as the Gamorreans ran past. She waited for five heartbeats, as training demanded, before planting a playful kiss on Theron’s cheek. “Sure you will. Until then, let’s go finish your mission.”

* * *

**Prompt: “You think this troubles me?”**  
**Word Count: 780**  
**Characters: Felix/Lua**  
**A/N: Another of my cross-faction couples, Felix Iresso/Female SI.**

Lua heard the water running as soon she opened the door. Felix had given her access to his tiny apartment only a week ago, and the Sith had more than made use of it.

Though he protested in public, Lua got the impression that Felix didn’t entirely mind her gift. He felt it would be inappropriate for people to see him leaving her room, even for innocent reasons. Lua didn’t fancy visiting him in the barracks, and so had carved out this small space down some abandoned passage.

Felix’s quarters boasted little more than a bed, desk, lamp, and small ‘fresher with sink and compost toilet. She expected that he took cloth baths to avoid the group showers.

Lua settled on the end of the bed with her datapad and waited for Felix to emerge. The moment the door opened, he cursed and ducked back into the cubby he called a bathroom. “What are you doing here?”

Lua frowned at the accusation in his voice. “My meeting concluded on time for a change, and I thought to surprise you.”

“Congratulations, you succeeded.” Felix peeked around the door frame. “Wanna’ throw me that shirt?”

Lua stretched back across his bed with a seductive wink. “I’d rather you came out here and leveled the playing field.”

“Very funny,” Felix answered, then slinked further into the room when Lua grinned. “You’re not kidding."

Lua pushed to her feet with a sigh. She could sense Felix’s anxiety through the Force and longed to comfort him. He acted peculiarly in times of vulnerability, though Lua couldn't fathom why. He was resolute in front of her men. “Don’t,” he said when she reached the door. “I’m not ready.”

“I was only joking,” Lua teased. She often toyed with Felix, though his reactions were usually milder. She was Sith, sex was simply an act of passion. Though, it seemed to mean more to Felix. He knew that she didn't expect any commitment from him. Lua enjoyed the old soldier's company, he was...soothing.

“What is this all about?” Lua asked when Felix retreated to the far wall. He couldn't go far, the room was barely large enough to accommodate the two of them.

Felix didn't normally shy from Lua's affections, but kept her wandering hands at bay, and never shed clothing. She’d accepted this part of his personality as well as he’d accepted her lustful nature. Folding thin arms over her chest, Lua waved for his answer. “I've always been too literal, so you’re going to have to tell me—”

Lua’s words cut off when she saw the shame in Felix’s dark eyes. “Alright,” she stated with raised palms and took a step away. Lua would never take what wasn't freely given. “You know that I won’t force you, Felix.”

They looked one another in the eye for a long moment before Lua dropped her hands. “I’ll let myself out. Rest well.”

“Wait.” Felix caught Lua at the door. She waited while he stared at the floor gathering his thoughts. Finally, the man sighed. “I just didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Lua looked over Felix’s bare torso, noting the tracks of raised flesh that vanished into the waistband of his pants. “I don’t—” but then, she did. Lua understood all too well.

“Felix, you were tortured.” Lua took a step closer, relieved when he didn't move away. “It was bound to leave its mark.”

“They don’t exactly fill me with confidence,” the former soldier admitted quietly. “I’m not ready to share them.”

Lua reached for the belt that held her shirt closed. “Whoa.” Felix grabbed her hands. “This really isn’t a bid for a pity lay.”

With a smirk, Lua patted Felix’s cheek. “I would have taken my clothes off for the asking,” she replied in a sultry voice before resuming her task. “Alas, you didn’t ask, so I will show you this, instead."

Felix's breath hissed between clenched teeth when the garment fell away. “What happened?”

“I was a slave,” Lua answered as she traced one of the many, pale lines that marred her flesh. “At the mercy of crueler masters. Now, I am the most powerful Sith in the galaxy." She splayed long fingers over the worst of her scars. "Do you think this troubles me?”

“I’m not Sith,” Felix argued, tearing his gaze from Lua’s exposed flesh. “I’m nothing right now.”

Lua stepped closer and placed her hands on either side of Felix's face. “Right now,” she echoed. “But, tomorrow? Who knows?”

Felix searched her eyes before resting calloused hands on her hips. “I’d really like to kiss you, right now.”

Lua smiled and pressed closer. “I really wish you would.”

* * *

**Prompt: “But, I will never forget!”**  
**Word Count: 552**  
**Characters: Balic/Elara**

Balic paused at the entrance of the medbay and smiled. Elara hunched over her desk, tip of the stylus in her mouth while she furrowed angry brows at the datapad. There were days when Cormac couldn't believe the smart, beautiful, kind-hearted woman before him had agreed to spend the rest of her life with him.

In his youth, Cormac had never been a settler. He always had his eye on the next big thing, and his love life was no different. Though Balic considered himself a romantic, he had never found a single girl who could hold onto his heart for long. Cormac treated them well, bought gifts and took them to fancy places, but those girls never had his loyalty.

Elara changed everything. Instead of the suave, irresistible man who could charm any woman with his smile, Balic had acted like a bumbling idiot and tripped over his own feet. Either Elara hadn’t noticed, or she was too good to mock him for it.

Cormac had never believed that a man could change, but damn it all if Elara didn’t prove him wrong again. After she’d agreed to that first drink, the chase for other women lost its appeal. When they went to a cantina, Balic noticed the waitress or dancers in an abstract way, not with the same lust as before. Balic never knew how much he wanted to settle down until this socially awkward, ex-Imperial quick marched into his life.

With a contented sigh, Cormac entered the room and leaned over his wife. “Happy anniversary, doll,” he whispered in Elara’s ear as he slipped a box onto the screen of her datapad.

Bright, grey eyes blinked at him. “Happy what?” What little color Elara’s pale skin retained faded into horror. “Chuba,” she breathed before spinning in her chair. “I lost track of the date.”

"Not hard to do out here," Balic responded as he moved aside when Elara sprang up to pace the small space. He settled into her chair with a grin to watch. “You’ve been preoccupied with that article of yours. How’s it coming, by the way?” After the first one she published on the cutting edge procedures developed while serving in Havoc Squad, Elara had become somewhat of a celebrity in the scientific community.

Elara waved his question away. “That’s not the point. I never should have forgotten such an important celebration.”

“Ah.” Balic raised a finger towards the ceiling. “But, I will never forget!” His enthusiasm was met with a droll glare.

Chuckling, Cormac stood to place his hands on Elara’s shoulders to stop her frantic stomping. “Relax.” He offered a gentle squeeze, then kissed her forehead. “You’ve got enough going on in that head of yours. Leave this one to me.”

With a small smile, Elara let her head rest against Balic’s chest. “You’re a good man, Balic. How I ever managed to catch your attention, I shall never know.”

Cormac tilted his wife’s head back with a knuckle under her chin. “I’m the lucky one, doll.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, thrilled when she deepened it and wrapped both arms around his neck. Cormac lost himself in that embrace. Damn lucky, indeed.

* * *

Prompt **: “Who could do this?”**  
**Word Count: 526**  
**Characters: Notiac/Lana**

Jedi Master Notiac Carlo had never had never been an easy woman to surprise. Given her talent for sensing guilt in the heart of others, she could always tell when a person was trying to hide something. Especially, if it was from her. No matter the motive, every act of treachery left its mark on the perpetrator.

With that in mind, Notiac sputtered at the image before her. Why her quarters no longer felt the way they had when she left that morning. “Who could do this?” The Jedi breathed.

The warmth from nearby candles caressed Notiac’s cheek, accompanied by the pleasant aroma of her favorite dish. Shock slowly morphed into intrigue at the sheer will that could keep this from her. Lana would never have allowed a stranger into their quarters, yet none of Notiac’s usual acquaintances had avoided her that day.

“Surprise, my love,” Lana answered from behind, voice light with excitement.

“How did you manage?” Notiac asked, heart thumping at a heavier rhythm than normal. Lana had always been an open book, eager to find balance not only within the Force, but herself too. Serene peace intermingled with violent rage was a heady concoction. One that Notiac had not been strong enough to resist

Turning, Notiac reached for her partner. She could almost see the satisfaction radiating from Lana. “It wasn’t easy,” the Sith replied as she linked their arms. “Many parties were involved, each with menial tasks that could slide past your notice.”

“I see,” Notiac answered with a quirk of her lips. The Jedi allowed herself to be led towards the soothing smell of open flame and cooked vegetables. “What was your part?”

“Choosing the food and luring you home early, of course.” Lana’s voice lilted in a familiar laugh that boasted of her own cleverness. “Most didn't know why they were given certain tasks, and no one saw fit to question it."

Lana released her hold on Notiac to pull a chair out in offering. "Theron handled the organization of it all.”

"Clever, Theron always feels guilty about something." Notiac lowered herself into the chair and watched as Lana took the one across from her. She wondered if everyone else saw the same face that the Force revealed, or if the Sith looked vastly different in the flesh.

Once her partner was settled, Notiac pressed forward with a teasing inquiry. “What would possess you to go through so much trouble?”

In a movement so quick that startled Notiac, Lana grasped her hand. “You have toiled tirelessly for this Alliance.” The Sith kissed the back of Notiac’s knuckles. “Allow me this one moment of gratitude before you retreat into your Jedi sensibilities.”

Notiac smiled. "Only for you." She was well into her forties, still learning how to share herself with another after years of keeping others at a distance. How strange for a Sith to be the one to bring peace back into Notiac’s life. To show her the pleasure of attachments.

Lana’s fingers tightened around Notiac’s before withdrawing. “Then it's settled. Let's enjoy dinner before it grows cold.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “Try harder, next time.”**  
**Word Count: 348**  
**Characters: Elara/Cormac**

Elara muttered to herself while gathering medical supplies. Irritation over her husband’s foolish antics warred with the familiar pang of fear that she felt at the sight of his blood pooling on the floor.

“Can we talk about this,” Balic grunted from where he sat on the table, one large hand pressed against the would on his thigh. “I know you’re annoyed, but—”

“Annoyed?” Elara snapped as she spun to meet his dark eyes. Balic, at least, had the decency to look chagrined. “I’m far beyond annoyed, very nearly furious is more like it.”

Balic winced when Elara stomped over to stab a kolto injector into his uninjured leg. “I deserved that,” he admitted in a placatory tone that almost worked. Elara remained angry by sheer force of will. “Listen, I tried to talk her out of it, but you know how Fynta is. I couldn’t let her go alone.” She glanced towards where Fynta’s shadow paced on the other side of the frosted glass window.

Elara huffed as she reached for the gauze and sterilizing agent. “Try harder, next time.” She refused to meet Balic’s eyes, knowing that they would calm her. Then, she’d be forced to see how closely the shrapnel had come to severing his artery. How closely she’d come to losing him.

“I will,” Balic whispered, his bloodied fingers tracing Elara’s cheek when she waved for him to let her tend the wound. “I’ll never stop trying, so long as you promise to never stop being angry with me about it.”

That succeeded in undoing the final vestiges of Elara’s rage. With a sigh, she surrendered with a tired smile. “You’re children, both of you.”

Balic chuckled, then hissed when the antiseptic touched the raw edges of his wound. “Yeah, we are,” he agreed before leaning back on the table. “I’d be lost without you, doll.” Elara nodded, but refused to give voice to her own, frantic thoughts; or the knowledge that her life would cease to have meaning without him, too.

* * *

Prompt **: “Some would call it wisdom.”**  
**Word Count: 429**  
**Characters: Darth Kozen/Master Kaeto Vaa (Sith Warrior/Jedi Knight)**  
**A/N: These two have their own, weird, messed up** relationship **that even I don’t fully understand. I never managed to separate them, though.**

Kaeto rolled from the bed, smiling at the rapid rise and fall of her lover’s chest. After cleaning up, the Togruta slipped into one of Kozen’s overly large shirts before joined him again. “I told you it wouldn’t be terrible.”

Each time the Jedi and Sith crossed blades, a bet was struck. Whoever won had the power to control their adversary for the rest of the night. Kaeto couldn’t say where it began, but the obstinate, Red Sith had submitted to his fate without complaint when she disarmed him earlier that evening.

As a rule, the time they spent together remained light and playful. Kaeto remembered her first defeat, and the surprise when Darth Kozen, feared Emperor's Wrath, didn’t exact pain beyond what she was comfortable with.

“Indeed,” Kozen answered in a voice so deep, that Kaeto felt it rumble through her. She settled beneath the sheets to let his cool skin relax her tense muscles. Kozen toyed with the jeweled headpiece that decorated her montrals. “You were in a strange mood when we fought tonight. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

Kaeto looked away. She’d given in to her predatory nature, touched the darkness that these prolonged visits with Kozen exposed her to. “I considered following through, tonight,” she admitted in quiet shame.

A low chuckle rolled beneath Kaeto's ear as Kozen’s hand draped across her hip. “Some would call that wisdom.”

Kaeto found the courage to meet Kozen’s vivid, red gaze. The golden rings linked through his nostrils and down the center of his gleamed like fire in the dim lighting. “Should I have killed you?”

“Probably,” the Sith answered, then tightened his hold. “But, this is preferable to death.”

It was, and Kaeto feared the corruption it foretold. What Jedi should yearn for a Sith the way she did? “This is wrong.” Kaeto didn’t realize that she’d spoken allowed until Kozen frowned.

“It is,” he agreed with a subdued nod. “We have infected one another, and should be destroyed for our weakness.” Kaeto’s heart sank. He spoke the truth; that Kaeto no longer deserved to call herself Jedi.

They lay in silence with only the gentle hum of hotel appliances to keep it from becoming oppressive. Then, Kozen inhaled a deep breath. “I am the Emperor’s Wrath,” he nearly growled. “I answer to no one, and will do as I please.”

Kaeto shifted her position to see him better. Though it made no sense, a smile spread over her face. Kozen toyed with the sharp teeth peaking between her lips with the pad of his thumb, then pulled her onto his chest. “We are stronger as one,” Kozen breathed against Kaeto’s lips. “One day, these clandestine meetings will be but a memory.”

Surrendering, Kaeto let herself sink into his essence, knowing that it would eventually erode away her soul. The part that terrified her the most, was that she no longer cared.

* * *

 

Prompt **: “I thought you had forgotten.”**  
**Word Count: 507**  
**Characters: Fynta/Jorgan**  
**Fandom:** swtor  
**A/N: This is a little bit of a nostalgia piece going back to the first chapter of Family Is More Than Blood.**

Fynta dragged the brush through her hair again, sighing at the shorter strands that refused to grow. Carbonite had changed everything, made her skin dry and itchy, hair brittle, and joints ache. Nothing about her body worked the way she remembered.

Music pulled Fynta from her glum thoughts, and she set the hairbrush aside to investigate. The steady beat grew louder as Fynta weaved through the Thunderclap towards the cargo hold to find Aric in PT shorts and a loose shirt. He looked up from the radio and flashed a sharp-toothed smile. “Recognize it?”

Fynta’s brows drew together as she drew nearer. The stringed instrument picked up pace, causing Fynta's body to vibrate with adrenaline. She knew this tune, but hadn’t thought about it in nearly a decade. “Our first sparring match.”

Aric’s grin widened as he stalked closer on rarely bared feet. “For a moment, I thought you’d forgotten.”

Fynta thought it unlikely. That had been the first step in earning his trust during their trip from Ord Mantell to Coruscant. It had been a way to ease the tension between them and prove that a Mandalorian and Cathar could co-exist. Fynta never would have guessed on that fateful morning that the grumpy male she'd challenged would one day become her husband. All she'd wanted was a conversation that didn’t end with him growling.

“What’s all this for?” Fynta asked, laughing when Aric snaked an arm around her waist to spin her in a tight circle. She’d learned years ago that he was an accomplished dancer, though it had taken winning a bet to get that out of him.

“A little de-stressing,” Aric whispered when he pressed his chest to her back to sway them both along with the music. Fynta raised a brow over her shoulder, pulling a low chuckle from the Cathar. “We can do that after.”

Jorgan held Fynta close and placed a kiss on her temple. They moved together a little longer until the music increased in tempo. In that same moment, Aric spun Fynta away from him and put more space between them.

Fynta gasped, instinct taking over as she dropped into a fighting stance. Aric mimicked it with a playful grin. “What do you say, feeling nostalgic?”

“You know me so well, riduur,” Fynta purred a moment before she lunged. Aric knocked the first punch away with his forearm and delivered a staggering, open-handed shove to her sternum.

The air rushed from Fynta’s lungs when she slammed into the wall. Jorgan straightened and raised a brow. “What was that you said to me that day—now you’re warmed up.” He danced backwards, taunting Fynta with every move.

Pushing away from the wall, Fynta shook her limbs out and smiled. “Let's have some fun.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “This is going to be so much fun!”**  
**Word Count: 523**  
**Characters: Fynta & Cormac & Noara**

This is going to be so much fun. That had been Fynta’s thought when one too many glasses of tihaar encouraged her to teach Noara how to fire a blaster. Of course, that was also before the Jedi nearly dropped the damn thing after the first discharge.

“Raise your elbow,” Fynta instructed in an annoyingly sober tone. A live blaster bouncing back and forth between a novice’s hands had that effect.

Fynta didn’t blame her young friend. It had been her foolish mistake by forgetting to warn Noara about the recoil. After years of running through war zones in heavy armor, taking pot shots at foes she couldn’t see, Fynta had grown numb to the jerking motion.

“Much better.” Fynta smiled when Noara’s grip settled into the correct position. “Shouldn’t kick as hard now.”

Cormac leaned down to whisper while Noara practiced her breathing and looked down the iron sights. “Bet she makes the shot first try.” Fynta raised a brow at the big man, then turned her scrutiny on Noara.

Balic elbowed Fynta to draw her attention back to him before continuing in hushed tones. “Say…thirty credits?”

While Noara might hold the blaster correctly, her shoudlers were tense. Instead of forming a triangle between her elbows and torso, the Jedi’s arms were lopsided and knees locked. Not to mention the white knuckle hold she had on the weapon. Noara’s access to the Force gave Fynta pause, but nothing equaled years of training.

“Deal,” Fynta decided, already considering how she’d spend Cormac’s money.

With a grin, the mountain of a man leaned forward to tap Noara on the shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, Noara-doll.”

Fynta watched the Jedi’s shoulders rise with an inhale, then drop a second before the crack of her blaster shattered their late night silence. “Did I hit it?”

Fynta gaped as the lane terminal magnified the target, complete with slow-motion replay. Fynta wasn't even aware of her mouth hanging open until Cormac’s knuckle slipped beneath her chin to nudge it closed.

“Sure did,” Cormac beamed while casting an exaggerated grin at Fynta. “Hell of a shot, wouldn’t you say, boss?”

“Fierfek,” Fynta answered.

Cormac guffawed, then laughed harder at Noara’s confused expression. The grin that spread over the Jedi's face when Cormac held out an expected hand towards Fynta should have annoyed her. Instead, the commander found herself laughing while she dug in her pocket for the promised amount.

Stomping forward, Fynta reset the target and unholstered her Verpine as she took the next shooting stall. “Alright you two, time to get serious about this.” When Cormac and Noara exchanged satisfied smirks, Fynta mumbled. “Need to get my creds back.”

Without bothering to hide his amusement, Cormac brandished his sidearm and took the lane on the other side of their Jedi. “I could use the extra credits. What about you, Noara?”

The younger woman grinned between the two soldiers. “Double or nothing?”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to like it.”**  
**Word Count: 256**  
**Fandom:** swtor  
**Characters: Fynta/Jorgan**

Jorgan glanced up when his wife groaned. Part of him wanted to rail against her stupidity, the other smirked with satisfaction at the deep bruising that blended into the target shaped tattoo around her right eye.

“Fierfek.”

The familiar expletive pulled a snort from Aric. It was the first thing Fynta always said after regaining consciousness. “Yep,” he answered, failing at keeping his tone neutral.

The Cathar watched his wife push herself upright, then blink at the hotel room. Her eyes settled on a lump in the corner, brows pulling together. “Verin?”

“Mm-hm,” Aric acknowledged again before going back to the work on his datapad. “Cinlat said that she didn’t have time for your osik, and dumped him here.” He glanced towards the still slumbering bounty hunter. “Hell if I know what she expects me to do with him.”

Fynta didn’t speak for several minutes while she stared at her brother. Jorgan swore that he could almost hear her working through the hazy memories from the night before.

Explosive laughter startled Aric’s attention back to his wife, causing him to snarl at her wide grin. “Who won?”

With a sigh, Jorgan followed Fynta’s gaze to the still sleeping Mandalorian. She would never learn to leave well enough alone. Might as well have fun with it. Aric cut his eyes at Fynta with a sharp grin. “I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to like it.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “You should have seen it.”**  
**Word Count:**  
**Characters: Verin/Keshal & Tranx**

“It wasn’t that big of a deal, buir,” Tranx interrupted with rolled eyes. Verin wasn’t fooled. He could see the pride emanating from his son.

It had taken the old Mandalorian nearly half a year of begging, pleading, and bribery to get Keshal to forfeit the right to take Tranx on his verd’goten to him. The boy had accepted him as a father so willingly, that spending this important moment with him had been all Verin could think about. When Keshal was too sick to make the journey, she’d playfully accused Verin of getting her pregnant for this sole purpose.

“The boy is being modest, riduur,” Verin stated as he clapped a hand on Tranx’s shoulder. “You should have seen it. That beasty charged straight at him, and our boy didn’t flinch.”

Verin and Tranx smiled as one at the ugly pelt of an unknown creature that dwelt under Darvannis’s hard packed surface. Keshal cocked on hip and folded her arms over the swell of her stomach. “You let my son stare down a stampeding—whatever that was?”

All merriment left Verin in a gush. He’d forgotten how protective Keshal was of the boy, and probably should have worded the story better. He could teach Tranx the fine art of embellishment in the drinking hall, but to his mother…

“What I meant to say,” Verin cleared his throat and cast a panicky look at Tranx, who didn’t appear ready to go head to head with his mother. “Was that he remained behind cover, and shot the damn thing from sixty paces. Hell of a shot, really, from that angle and will absolutely dismal line of sight.”

Keshal’s brow climbed higher, and a twitch at the corner of her mouth gave Verin pause. He looked back at Tranx, who sudden;y found the ceiling of their tent fascinating. “Har’chaak,” Verin spat. “How long have you two been planning this.”

Opening her arms, Keshal’s facade shattered into a fit of laughter as Tranx walked into her embrace. “We know you all too well, riduur.”

“It was her idea,” Tranx added, then ducked away when his mother swatted at him. “I’m sure you too missed one another, so I’m going to meet my friends.”

“Tranx,” Verin called out as he followed his son into the warm night. Tranx paused with a miserable expression that said he’d rather be anywhere than with his parents on his first night of adulthood. Chuckling, Verin grasped his shoulders in both hands, once more marveling at how much taller he already was than Verin. “I’m proud of you, ad. Go have fun.”

“Thanks, buir.”

As Tranx turned to scurry away, Verin shouted one more congratulation. “I’ll buy your first drink tomorrow.” The boy waved a non-committal response over his shoulder, then broke into a run. Within a few more years, Tranx might be married and siring little Mandalorian devils of his own.

“Time goes too fast,” Keshal whispered as her hands snaked over Verin’s shoulders. There was a bitter-sweet note in her voice that reminded Verin of how late he came into their lives.

Turning in her arms, Verin laid his hands over the child still growing in her womb and smiled. He wouldn’t miss a moment with this one. Verin had waited years for his shot at being a father, and he’d be damned if he would screw it up.

* * *

 

Prompt **: “Oh please, like this is the worst that I’ve done.”**  
**Word Count: 522**  
**Characters: Fynta Wolfe/Aric Jorgan**  
  
Aric Jorgan nudged the already cracked airlock door open with his shoulder while he ticked off the rest of the inventory list. He double checked Elara’s medical supplies, put in an order with the quartermaster for more ammunition, and secured a private batch of Corellian whiskey he’d probably fail to hide from Fynta and Cormac.

The scrape of metal sliding over the floor caused Jorgan pause. The sound grated against his back teeth, dragging an involuntary snarl from the Cathar. Flipping his datapad off, Jorgan turned towards the cargo hold where more odd noises echoed. “Fynta?” He called. She was always the first name on his lips when strange things happened aboard the ship. Though, it had been Cormac and Vik who caught the blasted thing on fire last year.

Fynta appeared in the hallway and slammed her fist against the hatch door controls before Jorgan enter. “Hey, riduur. You’re back early.”

Jorgan lifted a brow when she leaned against the wall with arms crossed. Aric copied her posture and ignored the obvious deflection. “Any reason why you don't want me in there?”

Fynta’s grin widened as she pushed off the wall to stalk forward. “Maybe I’m just more interested in herding you towards the bedroom.” Her fingers walked up Aric’s chest, further heightening his suspicions.

“I don’t think so,” the Cathar replied with a smirk. One that vanished the moment the bleating of an animal issued from the secured room. With a stern glare at his wife, Aric pushed around her to reach for the door panel.

“What the—” Jorgan’s words broke off at a sight he couldn’t quite understand. The cargo hold, a place for storing large crates of ammo, the occasional speeder, and their workout equipment, was packed full of cages. As his eyes traveled over them, he realized all were occupied with one type of beast or another.

Fynta entered the room to cross her arms. “Ahuska stumbled across a poaching ring, and since we were in the area…”

At the sound of her name, the shy Bothan Mandalorian rose slowly from behind a cage that held a taunling. Blue eyes darted around the room, then a sheepish smile graced her muzzle when she offered a small wave. Aric turned his gaze back to Fynta. “So, you turned our ship into a zoo?” He didn’t bother hiding the incredulous note in his voice, even if it caused the Bothan’s ears to flatten as she stooped behind her chosen shelter again.

Fynta snorted, then rolled her eyes. “Oh please, like this is the worst that I’ve done.” Sad thing was, she was right. Aric wasn't sure whether to count himself lucky that they'd only be cleaning up shit this time.

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Jorgan turned on his heel and stalked out. “I’ll be in our room. Let me know when it’s over.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “I hope you have a speech prepared.”**  
**Word Count: 413**  
**Characters: Trev Brawlin/Kira Carson**  
**Fandom:** swtor  
**A/N: I have to thank Keirra for this little bit of indecency. Her fic about Kira’s favorite toy got my creative juices flowing. That, coupled with Trev’s inability to deny her anything and rebellious streak. Well...**

“Okay, wait.” Trev moved slowly in the cramped space of their stealth generator. Kira had brought the topic up a few weeks ago, lamenting the loss of her toy from when they’d first met, and tempting him with the possibilities of being invisible. So far, the reality hadn’t lived up to the fantasy.

“Maybe if I turn around?” Kira offered in a whisper punctuated by quiet laughter.

Trev growled when Kira’s outer robed tangled around his hand. He tried to shake it free, but the movement made the shield shimmer. Both Jedi held their breath until the small dome of safety stabilized. It wouldn’t do to be caught like with his pants down, both literally and figuratively.

“Slowly,” Trev warned when Kira began to switch positions. He’d foolishly let her choose the place. Of course, the headstrong woman had taken him to a Senate meeting. They were on the balcony, well out of sight regardless of visibility, but Trev found it difficult to concentrate on his girlfriend while the men below talked politics.

Kira had just placed her back to Trev’s chest when a hushed chime signaled that the stealth shield’s generator was overheating. Trev cursed as he righted Kira’s clothing. All the while, the beeping became more insistent. “I thought you said your contact was trustworthy,” the Jedi growled under his breath while yanking his pants up.

“He usually is,” Kira whispered in return, running her fingers through her hair to settle it.

No sooner had the two given each other the all clear, than the field failed completely. A senator from Naboo gasped at the sudden appearance of two Jedi, both of which were hard to miss with Trev’s vibrant, purple hair. That gained the attention of the others in attendance.

“Master Jedi,” the caller announced. The man cleared his throat and cast an uncomfortable look around the room. “Does the Order have anything to add to this topic?”

Slinking further back into the shadows, Kira sniggered. “I hope you have a speech prepared.”

Trev cringed, shot an annoyed glare over his shoulder, and sighed. Stepping forward, only one thought entered Trev’s mind. What would Jurr do?

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “Impressive, truly”**  
**Word Count: 591**  
**Characters: Quinn/Lyesh (and daughters)**  


Quinn walked the halls of the grand estate he shared with Lyesh. While more extravagant than he felt they needed, it wouldn’t do to deny such luxuries to the Emperor’s Wrath. Not to mention, the extra space came in handy when any of their four daughters developed a dislike for another.

A wall thumped as Quinn passed. He paused and inclined his head towards the sound with an arched brow. Sure enough, something heavy thudded against it again. Quinn sighed. Lyesh would be away until tomorrow night, and so it fell to him to navigate the choppy waters of his two oldest.

Tucking his datapad away where it wouldn’t be harmed should their wrath turn on him, Quinn activated the ornately carved door. As expected Ygrin and Zheth stood on opposite sides of the room, pale skin reddened by anger.

“Take it back,” Zheth shrieked, her still maturing voice rising to an octave Quinn hadn’t known it could still reach.

Ygrin flashed white teeth in a brutal grin that mirrored the one Lyesh wore before striking the final blow to an enemy. Quinn shuddered at the thought of his eleven year old wielding it so expertly. “I can’t take back the truth. Everyone knows it.”

Before Quinn could intercept, Leth threw her arms out with a wave of Force energy that left her older sister sprawled across the floor. Ygrin struggled to her feet and replied with an arc of lightning that, thankfully, fell short of its target. The attempted electrocution only served to enrage Zheth further, and she launched across the room to tackle her sister.

Quinn stood by the door, watching his daughter trade blows and attempt Force attacks that they were too young to fully realize. Eventually, the girls exhausted their Force capabilities and resorted to punching and kicking until they rolled into Quinn’s shins.

Momentarily startled at the appearance of unexpected legs, both girls looked up as one. The color drained from Zheth’s face as she shoved away from her sister and scrambled to her feet. “Father,” the girl said, righting her tunic.

Ygrin reacted with less haste, but Quinn was grateful that his oldest still averted her eyes under the weight of his disappointed gaze. They could probably kill him, should the girls put their minds to it. For now, his children still respected their father’s authority within these walls.

Clearing his mind of those thoughts, Quinn clasped his hands behind his back. “I expect this mess to be sorted by morning. Your mother returns tomorrow.”

Whatever rebelliousness lingered in Ygrin’s eyes vanished at the news of Lyesh’s return. While Quinn’s hold on his daughters’ respect was tenuous, they all feared their mother.

“We were practicing,” Ygrin stated quickly. “That’s all, Father.”

Quinn turned his raised brow on the wretched state of their room with Zheth nodded in agreement. One of the curtains still smoked, the desk was splintered, and there were several scorch marks on the rug. With a curl of his lip, Quinn returned his attention to the girls. “Impressive, truly.”

“Give us time, and we’ll learn to control it,” Zheth added with a bright smile. Quinn sighed. May the Emperor help them when that happened.

Turning towards the door, Quinn glanced over his shoulder. “You have much to do. I suggest you get to work.” Without another word, he stepped into the hallway and didn’t release his breath until the door snapped shut behind him. He’d survived another disagreement between volatile children with overwhelming power. He considered that to be a noteworthy achievement.

* * *

 

Prompt **: “I know how you love to play games.”**  
**Word Count: 404**  
**Fandom: FFXIV**  
**Characters: X’rhun Tia/Isashi Tosho (Red Mage)**  
**A/N: This is a little drabble from my couple featured in Echo of Evil which follows the Red Mage quest line with a little romance thrown in.**

Isashi Tosho smirked at her lover’s insistence. She’d pretended to have never seen the common plum before, which had thrilled X’rhun to purchase a bundle for their picnic.

“Come, my lady,” the Miqo’te insisted. “If you do not like it, then I shall streak naked across the shores of Costa del Sol.”

Isashi choked on her wine, laughter finally bursting forth once the treacherous liquid cleared her throat. “That is hardly the way for a gentleman to present himself.”

X’rhun leaned back on his elbows with a rakish grin. “I claim to be honorable, my dear. That is a far cry from being a gentleman.” Blue eyes traveled along Isashi’s outstretched legs. She’d worn a swimsuit for their beachside lunch, and X’rhun had always found her golden scales fascinating.

“Is that so?” Isashi opened her mouth for X’rhun to deposit the small plum into it. After chewing, Isashi waved for him to continue. “So, educate me. I know how you love to play these games.”

The Miqo'te's eyes danced with silent laughter at her challenge. Clearing his throat, X'rhun held a single finger aloft. “There are far too many delicacies that I would be required to abstain from were I a gentleman,” His free hand outlined the markings that curved over Isashi's thigh. “If I am honorable, however…” Fingers drifted higher to toy with the tie at her hip. “Once my word is given, I am bound by it.”

Isashi nodded as she reached over X’rhun’s stomach to retrieve another plum. “I see. So, which word have you given to me?”

X’rhun caught Isashi’s wrist when it drifted across him again. She gasped when balance surrendered to the gentle tug that splayed her across the Miqo’te’s chest. With an earnest smile, X’rhun toyed with the braid that had slipped over one shoulder. “No simple words for you, my love. For the joy you have brought into this old soldier’s life, I would give you my heart.”

“Bastard,” Isashi whispered with a light kiss. “How dare you make me love again.”

X’rhun’s grin widened. “A bastard I am, then. For as long as you’ll have me.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “This is not new, it only feels like it.”**  
**Word Count: 575**  
**Characters: Ma’at Stasma (young)**  
**A/N: Kierra and I were discussing what to do with our two new Sith, and after a lot of discussion about troupes and politics, we decided to have some fun with “Sith Royalty.”**

“This is not new, my dear.” Ma’at’s mother leaned across the to pat her hand. It was a warm gesture, far more maternal than the still budding Sith was used to from her mother. “It only feels like it.”

“What do you mean?” Ma’at asked, then cringed when her mother withdrew and sighed. Ma’at held no doubt that her parents loved their children, even if she didn’t always understand how they showed it. Theirs was a formidable Sith family who could trace their lineage back through the centuries. The number of Force-sensitives produced from Ma’at’s family rivaled that of most.

When mother pinned Ma’at with a peeved glare, the young Sith fought the urge to wiggle in her seat. “Our house is coveted among the others. Your sisters have already met their future husbands, and you will go to yours with the same dignity.”

Ma’at almost snorted. Her second oldest sibling had thrown a fit that shook the walls of their home. She’d sneered at her husband to be, then nearly killed him when the boy had the gall to ask why she was so cross. Now, they had two children of their own, and still spewed death threats at one another daily.

A chill ran the length of Ma’at’s spine. “What if we don’t like each other?”

Mother scribbled a signature, set it aside, then looked back at Ma’at. “Then you do your duty, and live in a separate house when it suits you.” Ma’at winced, and mother sighed again. “Tualthal Technar is from a good family. Though no strong in the Force, their household is known throughout every branch of our military.”

Ma’at didn’t want to marry a soldier. She wanted to heal, not destroy. Though, that appeared to be where her talent lay at the moment. Ma’at was determined to turn her ability to siphon life forces into one that could give it. Shoulders hunched in resignation, Ma’at gave in to the inevitable. Seldom did her parents present such a united front. She could not stop this. “He’s not old, is he?”

Mother chuckled. It was a deep, feral sound that startled Ma’at into sitting up straight. “No, little one. He is close to your age.” Ma’at didn’t understand her mother’s amusement at the question, and wasn’t given the chance to ask. “Besides, neither family expects the contract to be fulfilled until you’ve both reached the title of Sith. Now, I have work to do, ready yourself for dinner.”

“Yes, mother,” Ma’at answered, finding no room in her cramped stomach for food. She momentarily considered slacking on her lessons to postpone the unwanted marriage for as long as possible, but discarded that idea immediately. No. Regardless of her view on the politics of Dromund Kass, Ma'at was Sith. Her sisters had made sacrifices for their family, now, it was her turn. Ma’at only hoped that Tualthal liked her. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.

* * *

 

Prompt **: “Go forward. Do not stray.”**  
**Word Count: 494**  
**Characters: Trev Brawling/Kira Carsen**

  
“Are you sure?” Trev drew out the final word as he followed Kira through the ship. “Tee-seven is making popcorn, and I even banned Rusk from movie selection.” After the sixth military documentary in a row, the entire crew had decided that the Chagrian wasn’t fit to choose their weekly entertainment.

Kira rolled her eyes and grabbed a sweater from their room. “Which means you or Doc chose.” Trev nodded even though her back was to him. That was the most obvious conclusion, yeah. “Leaving us with raunchy comedies or juvenile cartoons. Either way, not interested. I’d rather risk a bar fight with Jurr.”

Though Kira mumbled it, Trev wondered if she understood how much of a possibility that was. While his little JJ was sweet, she loved a good adrenaline rush, and the military had introduced her to the joys of brawling. “You know her mate will kill us—no, me—if she receives another head injury while you two are together, right?”

Kira paused to check her bag, ignoring Trev’s concerns. After digging around, she raised an annoyed glare on him. “Where are they?”

Trev shrugged and averted his eyes. “Where’s what?” He’d never been a great liar, too many years spent with Jurr during childhood. While the woman could bullshit her way out of any situation now, she hadn’t always been so smooth. In fact, Trev remembered when his recollection-stunted friend had been painfully honest. She probably still was when she wasn’t trying to make up for a gap in her memories.

Sighing, Kira stomped a foot and held out her hand. “I’m going out for a drink with Jurr. We will be fine, and your cowardly butt will survive. I promise. Now, give me back my credit chit.”

“Easy for you to say,” Trev grumbled and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Captain Jorgan likes you.”

When Kira’s brow rose, Trev muttered a few things that she wouldn’t like if he’d spoken them louder and dug around for the chips. He wasn't going to let her leave without them, but had hoped the stall tactic would make her see reason.

“There,” Trev snipped as he deposited the stick in Kira's hand. With one, final attempt, Trev offered a lopsided grin. “Sure I can’t convince you to stay?”

Kira placed a quick kiss on Trev's lips while ensuring the money made it into her bag, then patted his cheek. “I won’t be out late. Just need some girl time.”

With a heavy sigh, Trev straightened and lifted his hand the way he’d seen countless Jedi masters do over the years. “Very well, my child. Go forward. Do not stray.”

Trev's breath escaped in a grunt when Kira slapped his stomach. “Very funny.” She slung the strap over her shoulder with a smirk. “Just for that, I’m buying Jurr an extra round.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “But, if you cannot see it, is it really there?”**  
**Word Count: 703**  
**Characters: Koth** Vortena **, Fynta Wolfe, & Torian Cadera (drinking buddies)**

“What you boys seem to take for granted,” Fynta began, cutting off Koth’s tirade by sloshing her drink into his lap. The former Zakuulan soldier blinked at his pants with a frown, then curled his lip. Fynta ignored him. “Is that is doesn’t matter.”

“How do you get that?” Torian asked while refilling Fynta’s glass. She saluted the Mandalorian, then shoved the bottle back at him. The man was far too sober for this conversation.

Fynta watched Koth lean back in his chair and grinned at the dim awareness in his eyes. At least he’d feel her pain come morning. “Well,” Fynta continued, wrestling her thoughts back to the topic of theoretical weaponry. “It’s all about perspective.”

“Pretty sure it’s not,” Koth added while covering a belch. “You get hit by one of those, it’ll change your perspective real fast.”

Fynta shook her head. “But, if you can’t see it, is it really there?”

“Judging by the hole left in the wall, I’d say so,” Torian grunted, then crossed his arms and looked over at Koth. “It’s impressive tech. A rifle capable of firing bolt that's invisible to the naked eye, but slices through objects like an energy saber. Did your people ever produce any?”

“Hell if I know,” Koth answered after another drink. “Science wasn't my thing back in the day.”

Fynta blew air through her lips and flapped both hands at the men. “You two are killing my buzz.” She'd wanted a debate things that didn't exist yet, and here they were, bringing logic into her merriment.

“Buzz?” Koth asked incredulously. “You’ve drunk half the damn bar on your own. How are you still conscious?”

Torian smirked and nudged Fynta’s leg with his crossed boot. “He should join us for a real party one day. Introduce him to ne'tra gal.”

“Chase it down with a little tihaar?” Fynta added with a conspiratorial wink before narrowing her eyes. “Is that why you won’t drink? This aruetii stuff not to your liking?” It wouldn’t have surprised her. Torian grew up following strict Mandalorian traditions. Though, Fynta didn't remember that ever stopping her parents from enjoying the local brew.

Torian shook his head, making Fynta woozy with the act. “Prefer to keep my wits about me.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Can’t watch your back if I’m too batnor to see straight.”

Fynta sighed and threw her hands up. “Ijaat sol'yc nuhur. Fine, but at least provide some entertaining conversation.”

Torian opened his mouth to respond, but Koth cut him off. “You’re doing that thing again. The one where you slip into gibberish and leave me feeling like an idiot.”

A smart assed remark was on the tip of Fynta's tongue, but she hesitated when it vanished. Torian filled the space for her. “Don’t feel bad,” he replied without looking at the other man. “She’s just pouting.”

Fynta pushed herself up to unsteady feet, proud that she managed to present a semi-steady picture. “Pouting? Oh no, the commander of the Alliance doesn’t pout, she acts.” Unfortunately, that action included slamming into the table and upending all of their drinks.

Koth glared at the newest stain on his shirt and slid the chair back. “On that note, I think it’s time that we call it a night.” He blinked around the room with a scowl. “Anyone remember which way my quarters are?”

With a rare chuckle, Torian righted Fynta, who’d decided that the table looked comfortable enough, and pulled Koth up by his arm. “I’ll see you both home.”

With each of their arms draped over his shoulders, Torian staggered towards the exit. He grunted when Fynta shifted her weight to lean around him to look at Koth. “Maybe we’ll bring him back next time. Not often a guy escorts me home out of the goodness of his heart.”

Torian huffed a light laugh until Koth patted his cheek. “Yeah, me too,” the man slurred. “Such a gentleman.”

Shaking his head, Torian dragged his inebriated friends from the cantina. "Really hope neither of you remembers this in the morning."

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “Remember, you have to remember.”**  
**Word Count: 518**  
**Characters: Trev & Jurr (Space Punks)**  
**A/N: Going back in time to their youth. Trev has been** discharged, **but has to return for** follow ups **every three months. This is after their first, long separation.**

Trev’s hands shook as he exited the shuttle. It had been three months since he’d been to Rhinnal. Three months since he’d seen Jurr face to face. Of course, Trev has messaged her during their separation, but he could tell by Jurr’s responses that his words no longer triggered any memory. It made the young Jedi wonder what he’d find when they were reunited. Would Jurr smile, or greet him with unfamiliar suspicion?

Taking a breath, Trev made his way towards the cafeteria, bag of candy in hand. Master Vukosh had helped Trev choose an assortment that they knew Jurr liked, and he cradled it against his chest like a shield. Who knew how Jurr would react without a peace offering. That, and Trev couldn’t silence the gnawing worry that their Force bond had weakened.

After spending time traveling with a new master, Trev had learned so much about the Force. He was certain that he’d done something wrong when bonding with his amnesiac friend. Part of Trev didn’t want to attempt the code phrase for fear of it not working. He’d be crushed if there was nothing left of the friendship they’d spent nearly a year cultivating.

Trev paused at the door to the mess hall. He peeked through a small, square window towards the top and held his breath when vibrant, red hair came into view. It was shorter than when he’d left, which meant that Jurr was recovering from another procedure. Trev winced, that didn’t bode well for his chances here.

Paying special mind to his breathing, Trev entered the room and headed directly to his friend. Jurr remained oblivious to his presence, lost in her doodling. It gave Trev time to examine her, and he winced at the raw, angry skin around her new implants. It wasn’t until she looked up and cocked her head that Trev realized he hadn’t spoken. Clearing his throat, Trev held out the sack of sweets. “What’s new, JJ?”

Red brows furrowed while Trev’s heart pounded. Remember, he pleaded through the Force, you have to remember.

Jurr’s singular eye went to the bag that dangled from Trev’s fingers before they trailed back to him. “I know you, right?”

Smiling, Trev nodded. “It’s been a while. I’m back to have my spare parts checked.” He lifted the robotic arm as emphasis. Jurr winced, but he waved her concern away. “Mind if I join you for a little while?”

Jurr nodded and watched Trev slide into the chair across from her. It wasn’t until the silence stretched that he realized he hadn’t told her his name. Trev was so relieved she'd accepted him, that their bond had held, that he’d forgotten the next step. Nudging the candies closer to her, he smiled again. “I’m Trev, by the way. And, I’ve really missed you.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “I felt it. You know what I mean.”**  
**Word Count: 468**  
**Characters: Fynta & Theron (Frenemies)**  
**A/N: Another Pre-havoc drabble of these two getting into trouble.**

“Be still,” Theron growled while his fingers worked inside the delicate locking mechanism.

Fynta mocked the spy silently, hating that feeling of being completely useless. Not to mention, her fingers had gone numb, and the joints in her shoulders and elbows ached. "Why do they always hang us from the ceiling," Fynta asked without expecting an answer. She didn't receive one, either.

The SIS had given she and Theron outdated intel, which had led to an unexpected patrol during an incriminating moment. The damn shock cuffs that bound them together had a short in them, and every time Theron touched the wrong wire, a jolt ripped through Fynta's body. She puffed out a breath that tickled Theron's neck and ignored the annoyed glare he cast her.

“Almost,” Theron whispered through clenched teeth. Another current from the defective restraints coursed the length of Fynta’s arm, and she kicked Theron’s shin.

The spy cursed.“Sorry,” Fynta snipped. “Must’ve been an involuntary reaction.” She wasn't sure that the next jolt hadn't been intentional.

“Involuntary my ass,” Theron grumbled a moment before a sharp click echoed off the walls of their small cell. “Okay, I’m going to flip this lever, and it should release. You ready?”

“Now, you ask?” Fynta snorted.

Theron grimaced. “Shut up, Wolfe.” Taking a breath, Theron met Fynta’s gaze. “Okay, in three, two…”

The catch opened, but the half second delay between the cuff's release threw them off balance. Fynta crashed to the floor two meters below. Theron landed on top of her a moment later, and what little breath hadn’t been driven from out when her back struck the ground escaped in a grunt under his weight.

It took several more seconds before either moved, though it was a wonder the guards didn’t hear their mutual groans. When Theron pushed onto his elbows, Fynta gasped at the sharp pain in her ribs. “Fierfek, Shan,” she snarled between coughs.

“Can you feel everything?” Theron asked, pushing himself up further. He winced, then nearly fell back on top of Fynta.

“Yeah,” Fynta groaned, then wiggled her hips where his stomach rested between her legs. “I felt it.”

The taunt sent another spike of pain up Fynta’s spine, but it was worth it to see the indignation on Theron’s face. It also succeeded in getting him the hell off of her. “You know what I mean,” Theron harrumphed. "Can you move?"

“Don’t be such a prude, Shan,” Fynta teased as she rolled onto her stomach. Getting up from hands and knees might not be dignified, but it had more appeal than sitting up. Taking a deep breath, Fynta winced at her old friend before adding, “Next time, I’ll make the escape plan.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “At least it can’t get any worse.”**  
**Word Count: 747**  
**Characters: Aric & Nahir Jorgan(and triplets)**  
**A/N: This is from the series Generations of War where Jorgan has triplets and Quinn has four, Force-sensitive daughters**

“You want to tell me how we got roped into this?” Aric grimaced at the sound of another child being sick. When they’d agreed to help quarantine the flu carriers, he hadn’t expected there to be so many.

Nahir passed with a tray of vitamin enriched fluid that they’d been shoving down the kids’ throats all day. “Because our kii can’t be trusted in the infirmary, even while sick." She grimaced. "Since we’ve both already had this strain, we stand a better chance of being immune to it.”

Aric grunted. He’d like to know how this long forgotten virus made it onto the base. The going speculation amongst the squints was that one of the Zakuulan’s must have come into contact with a carrier. The Rishi Flu was a childhood illness that most of the Empire and Republic population had a natural immunity to. Since Zakuulan’s were so isolated, it made sense that they’d still be susceptible. Aric didn’t remember it being this bad when he’d been a kid, though. A couple of days of nausea, fever, and itchy skin, nothing more.

“Think it mutated?” Aric asked while collecting all the warm rags and replacing them with cool ones. “Maybe that’s how we caught it again.” Granted, as an adult who’d already had the symptoms, it hadn’t lasted as long. Then Amo started complaining of a headache, and his sisters soon followed. Within days, half a dozen children were ill.

“Probably,” Nahir answered, turning a circle and pointing to ensure everyone was accounted for. The triplets were in their room, along with a couple of their friends from school. The others, all younger, were spread out on furniture and pallets throughout the sitting room. “Okay, everyone is here and tucked in. Time for bed.”

Thank the stars, Aric thought. Not that it mattered. One of them would throw up, cry, wake the others, then he and Nahir would be back on the clock. This week had rammed home how glad he was that he’d chosen to be a sniper instead of a medic. Aric’s targets never talked back.

After assuring that each child’s fever was under control, Aric and Nahir slid into bed with a collective sigh. They waited with bated breath to see if anyone would call out, then finally relaxed into the mattress. Aric was too tired to think, much less roll over to cuddle his mate. He’d nearly drifted to sleep when Nahir laughed. “At least it can’t get any worse.”

Aric opened his mouth to growl a warning, but the chiming of their doorbell cut him off. Snarling death at the idiot who had woken most of the children in their care, Aric slammed his fist into the control panel to reveal Major Quinn with not one, but all four of his daughters.

“I was told to come here by the base physician.” The major looked inside, then curled his lip. “Hardly seems sanitary.”

Aric ignored the insult and swept his gaze over the girls. “Which one’s sick?”

Malavai sighed, adjusting the weight of his sleeping toddler to rest a free hand on Ninla’s head. She was the only one out of the brood that looked like her father. The rest bore the Wrath’s fiery hair and personality. “All, I’m afraid. It spread rather quickly.”

Aric stood back, mentally ticking off places where they could comfortably stash four more children, one being barely old enough to tell them what hurt. “We’ll take care of them.”

“You misunderstand,” Quinn stated in a polite, yet somehow sneering tone. “I will not be leaving my daughters. I am only here because it was mandated by Master Vranu.”

It took a full minute for Aric to process that Malavai planned to live here, in his home, during the duration of the quarantine. “Good going, Nahir,” Aric muttered. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but this felt like a jinx. One that might have been avoided if his wife hadn't attempted optimism. The average length of this virus looked to be roughly five days. If the girls had just presented, that made for a long week with a man Jorgan could barely tolerate. He’d have words with the Outlander about this later.

“Fine,” Aric growled. “I’ll show you where to bunk.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “Do we really have to do this again?”**  
**Word Count: 576**  
**Characters: Sadio/Torian**  
**A/N: This is in response a whole string of pranks thrown back and forth on Tumblr**

Sadio’s foot tapped out a rapid beat while she stared down at the newly painted defender droid. Phil didn’t appear bothered by his new markings, but judging by the way Sadio chewed on her cheek, Torian knew the inner tirade that would be playing out in her mind. When she huffed a sadistic laugh, Torian cringed.

“Phil, with me. You need a bath.” Sadio walked past Torian without glancing at him, which meant he wasn’t going to like her new plan. Curious, Torian followed only after Phil had passed to ensure his toes wouldn’t be in the droid’s path. Torian debated whether he really wanted to know what Sadio's plan was. Eventually, he decided that it would be best to see the shit storm coming, than be taken off guard.

By the time Torian reached the droid repair room, Sadio had already begun cursing under her breath. “What kind of paint did he use on you, boy?” Knowing Dubaku, the kind that would hold the longest.

Leaning against the door frame, Torian crossed his arms. “You know, they don’t look half bad.” Sadio’s golden eyes lifted slowly to glare are him. Torian held his hands up, then smirked. “You’ll scrub through his chassis before you get those lines off.”

Sadio threw the rag aside with a frustrated growl, then sat back on the balls of her feet while Phil hummed along. The little defender droid appeared oblivious to his masters’ will to destroy one another with ever evolving pranks.

After a few controlled breaths, Sadio ground her teeth. “This can not go unanswered.”

“How do you know it was aimed at you? Maybe Dubaku is sentimental.” Torian knew it was a stupid question as soon as the words left his mouth. One Sadio didn’t bother to answer as she ran her fingers over the black lines.

“Alright, fine," Torian conceded. "It probably was. But, painting Zabrak tattoos on a droid isn’t as bad as rewiring their water system. I’d run diagnostics on him to be sure Mako didn’t plant a new virus.”

Sadio waved a hand. “I knew Mako could fix their ship, and she’s too good natured to be mean to us through Phil.” Sadio paused, then grimaced. “I think.”

Torian huffed a laugh. “You didn’t live on the same ship as her for three years.”

Planting her hands on her thighs, Sadio pushed upright and paced with incoherent muttering. Finally, a slow grin spread over her face. “I’ve got just the thing.”

Torian thumped the back of his head against the door frame with a sigh. “Do we really have to do this again?”

“Of course.” Sadio’s incredulous response would have made Torian laugh were it not for the way his stomach tightened. “It’s what he expects.”

“Fine,” Torian surrendered. “What are you doing now?”

“That’s the beauty of it all.” Sadio’s grin widened. “I’m not going to do a damn thing.”

Torian’s brows furrowed. “Come again?”

“Dubaku expects me to up the game. His paranoia will be through the roof.” Sadio reached down to pat her droid on the head. “It’ll drive him nuts when they can’t figure out what nefarious thing we’ve done. Then, when he least expects it, I’ll hit him where it hurts.”

“You,” Torian corrected as he turned to leave the room. “What nefarious thing you’ve done. Leave me out of it.”

* * *

 

 **Prompt: “I’ve waited so long for this.”**  
**Word Count: 588**  
**Characters: Fynta Wolfe/Aric Jorgan**  
**Fandom:** swtor  
**A/N: I started with my main duo, it’s only fair to end with them. Thanks to everyone who followed along!**

It was a dance that Jorgan had become more than familiar with. For the last three years, he and Fynta had sparred whenever they could find the time. Where the military had taught Aric tactics and self defense, Fynta trained him to fight dirty. To do whatever it took to win.

Jorgan had managed to pin Fynta once during an altercation where everyone’s tempers flared, but not since. Desperate ended that fight. A primal fear that one of them would take it too far. In the matches since, Aric had fallen back on the rules of combat that were drilled into his youth.

Pain exploded in Jorgan’s jaw when Fynta’s fist connected. He staggered back, and shook his head. Fynta grinned. “You look distracted, riduur. Should we call it quits?”

Aric snarled his response before lunging. He caught Fynta around the waist and lifted her from the floor. Letting gravity take control, then fell to the ground with Fynta on the bottom. Her breath rushed past Aric’s ear in a grunt, but it didn’t keep her from trying to box his ears.

Aric tucked his head between Fynta’s breasts in an effort to dodge her strikes, then wrangled the woman's wrists above her head to pin them to the floor. Strong legs wrapped around Aric’s hips, then inched higher while they struggled against one another. Jorgan knew that if she managed to maneuver her thighs around his chest, he'd be lost.

Pressing down, Aric let his weight drive the breath from Fynta. Her grip relaxed enough for Jorgan to wiggled free and get his knee over hers. Now, he just needed to keep her from ramming his balls into his stomach.

For several seconds, Cathar and Mandalorian growled at one another, their bodied arching and twisting in an attempt to gain the advantage. Aric stared into Fynta’s dark blues eyes and watched the humor slowly fade from them. Then, she stopped struggling.

Expecting a trick, Aric held Fynta fast until he was certain another attack wasn’t forthcoming. “You yield?”

A sly smile spread over Fynta’s face with a slowness that made Aric’s breathing hitch. He wasn’t even sure why. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

This time, when Fynta’s legs snaked around Aric’s hips, it was to pull him flush to her body. Her grin widened. “Well done, riduur.” She wiggled her hips, turning Jorgan’s mood from focused to something more carnal. “What do you say we celebrate this achievement in true, Mandalorian style?”

Before he could think better of it, Aric released Fynta’s hands to better appreciate her body. He sucked in a breath when Fynta rolled them so that she straddled his waist. Frustrated at having fallen for her trap, Jorgan glared at her. “Should’ve known.” She'd distracted him before he made her concede the fight.

“Yeah, you should have.” Fynta laughed as she leaned over him. Sliding one hand behind his head, she crushed her lips to his. Aric no longer cared who the winner of the match was so long as Fynta stayed exactly where she was. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he deepened the kiss. Fynta responded with an eagerness that assured him that sparring was no longer on her mind.

“Now,” Fynta whispered as her hands slid between their bodies. “How about that reward?”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Noara Starspark, Jurr Jiin, Tuathal Tetchmar, and Dubaku Eze all belong to the talented Keirra.  
> Ahuska belongs to Dingoat, a spectacular artist on Tumblr


End file.
